


summer lovin'

by PrincezzShell101



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Derek Hale/Top Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 09:15:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8572735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincezzShell101/pseuds/PrincezzShell101
Summary: Stiles's first day of summer break is pretty shitty until it absolutely isn't.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, this has been sitting in my drafts for WAY too long. I decided to finish it tonight because, hey, why not right?

The temperature is sweltering, the breeze of seasonal air coming in through the open window combining with the smouldering rays of the sun. Together they feel like heated gas, melting through the ozone layer in Stiles's room.

"Oh my God, I am literally having hot flushes and I'm not even a woman on her period," Stiles groans. He's lying on his bed, blankets a cringe-worthy fluffy mess on the floor after he'd tried lying on them but ended up taking them off because the skin of his back had started going clammy underneath his clothing.

Summer break is meant to be great. School is over so he doesn't have to deal with kids' snobby attitudes and glares. He's usually watching porn and jerking off for half of the day, the other half spent playing video games with Scott.

Well, as it so happens, the climate seems to have a really big impact on his masturbation tendencies.

He'd woken up just like every other morning, dick swelling inside his boxers and blood flooding through said organ in a fast rush of hormones. Grinning, he'd decided to get a good head start at his summer break routine, wrapping his hand around his cock and closing his eyes, letting the sensations ebb and flow.

For a couple of minutes, it had gone just like normal, fingers looping around hard flesh, pre-come slippery and wet beneath his fingertips. And just like that it had ended, a blast of heat (and not the good kind) sweeping over him, causing him to stop stroking and notice the sweat dripping down his forehead and the stifling warmth of the blankets trapping him under their perspiring depths.

Yeah, let's just say he's not happy with how the start of his summer break has turned out.

Scott hasn't messaged him at all, which is weird because they've got a thing going on and it's been going on every summer break since the 7th grade. They'd snack on junk food and soda, playing PlayStation until well past midnight and only falling asleep when his dad would knock on his bedroom door with a  _time to sleep off all that sugar, boys_.

"C'mon Scott, save meeeeeee," he whines, pressing the buttons on his phone with a mix of both forceful determination and petulant misery.

There's no sound of a message coming through. No sign at all that Scott has heard his weak, pitiful cries for attention.

"Damn it," he sighs. "What good use are those wolf senses if they can't hear the cry of a wounded brother?"  _Wounded by boredom_ , his conscience mocks. "Shut up, you know what I mean."

"Actually, I don't think I do."

"Whoa!" Stiles yelps, jumping up in a flurry of arms and quickly propelled feet, dropping his phone as he whips around to face the window. The window, where Derek has just randomly decided to poke his head through, eyebrows raised and probably questioning the entire existence of the spastic idiot in front of him.

"Jeez, Derek, what the hell? Stalker much? And why the  _hell_  are you outside in this weather? You're going to fry your wolfy brain. Y'know, canine owners keep their dogs  _inside_  when it gets this hot. Also, plenty of water, buddy. Stock up. Don't want your tongue lolling out on a day like this, do we?  _That'd_  be a sight I wouldn't want to see."

 _Would too_ , his conscience says as it leaps in again to his utter displeasure.

Derek rolls his eyes. "Born werewolves can adjust their body temperature."

Stiles blinks dumbly. "Are you saying that right now you don't feel  _any_  of that heat out there, or hey, in  _here_?"

Derek shrugs. "I can feel a little. Kind of like when you drink a glass of warm milk." Stiles's mouth drops open and he smirks. "It's a good feeling, not too hot or not too cold."

"You've  _got_  to be kidding me," Stiles huffs. He kicks at his computer chair. "Ah, well, small miracles for you, I guess."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Derek actually sounds  _offended_  and yeah, Stiles is not going to even try and pretend like he expected that.

"Uh, n-nothing. Yeah, absolutely nothing. You're hearing things. Um." Stiles coughs, eyes nearly watering (he blames it on the heat, not embarrassment) as he turns his head to the side to avoid eye contact with Derek.

"Right," Derek says doubtfully.

"So, you wouldn't happen to know why Scott hasn't text me at all today, would you?" he asks, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. He wonders if Derek can smell what he'd done earlier that morning, hopes that he can't because now  _that_  would be something to get teary-eyed over. Shame city, yep, that's what that would be.

Derek swings his legs over the window sill in such graceful movements that a fucking  _ninja_  would be jealous, closing the window when he gets in. "Probably out with Allison." Stiles must make a face because then Derek rolls his eyes. "He's being quite sensible, unlike you. If you haven't noticed the temperature, which you obviously have, you must have realised that maybe you shouldn't be spending all of your day indoors."

"Should  _too_ ," Stiles snaps. "Are you crazy? You'd want to go  _outside_  and deal with that monstrosity of so-called weather instead of staying indoors away from it?" He shakes his head sadly. "Derek, dude, I think you've gone senile. You know what they say about old do—"

Stiles isn't sure when Derek's become so good at pinning him up against walls but, y'know, the guy has had heaps of good years' practice so…

"Call me a dog  _one more time_ , I dare you," Derek snarls.

For a few seconds, Stiles weighs his options.

He could either—

  1.    a) Call Derek a dog again and risk getting his throat ripped out by the werewolf's teeth (oh, yes, the irony would be strong and bloody in that one).



 or

  1.    b) Keep his mouth shut and live another day.



Ah, the latter sounds good. Great, actually. Terrific. That's his first choice. Yep. He's sticking to it.

So, he stays silent, not even moving a muscle or taking in a breath (stupid on his part for that one) while waiting for Derek to let him go. But Derek? Derek only stares at him just as speechless.

"Stiles, wha—are you holding your  _breath_?" Derek sounds incredulous, like he's just realised that Stiles is the kind of kid that will still find fart jokes funny at the age that he is. (Which he  _does_. How can someone  _not_  find a fart joke funny?).

"Stiles.  _Stiles_. Damn it, Stiles. Breathe, you idiot!"

Stiles gulps in a huge, gasping breath of air, surprised when Derek takes a few giant steps back like he's just touched a hornet's nest. Stiles is still trying to get air back into his lungs, when Derek growls loudly.

"What the  _hell_  were you thinking?"

"I wasn't,  _duh_ ," he croaks, massaging his chest with open palms as he takes a few deeper, shorter breaths. "You right up in my business didn't help either, you know."

"Sorry," Derek huffs, lips a thin and grim line. "I'm just going to go." He turns his back and Stiles bites out a  _wait!_  that turns him back around again.

"What did you come over here for?" he asks, moving to his blanket-less bed (Derek tracks his movements patently, raises an eyebrow at the bare mattress) and taking a seat.

No answer. Just Derek clenching his jaw, nostrils flaring.

Stiles squints his eyes a bit. "Uh, oooookay then. Well."

"To invite you over to my loft," Derek blurts out suddenly, mouth snapping shut instantly like he's just admitted somebody's deepest, darkest secret. He side-eyes the window, almost as if he's investing in a quick getaway.

Stiles snorts. "Invite me? Over to your loft?  _Me_?" He chuckles softly. "Sorry, but I find that kind of hard to believe."

"I'm standing here, aren't I?" Derek retorts flatly.

Stiles nods easily. "Yes, true, but you could be here for anything.  _Anything_  but inviting me over to your loft. Which, yeah, now that I think about it, sounds more realistic to me. So..." He claps his hands. "What do you want? I've got nothing else to do today since Scott is a lying brother who lies." He fakes sniffs. "Makes a promise only to let a dude down years later. I mean, I should have expected it, what with him getting a new girlfriend and all, but…"

"If I tell you that Scott's at my loft will you  _shut up_?" Derek grumbles.

Stiles stops rambling, blinking at Derek slowly. "What. Why would Scott be—you said he was with— _what_?"

Derek's sigh is so strained that if Stiles didn't know Derek's anger noises he would think the werewolf was constipated. "Scott's at my loft with the rest of the pack, Stiles."

"Why didn't you just say so?" Stiles asks, a tad confused. "I mean, not that I care that you're leaving me out of stuff—"

"I'm not leaving you out of stuff," Derek growls, a hint of fang peeking out from under his curled lip.

Stiles lifts his hands up in defence. "Sorry, sorry! Just, y'know, kind of weirded out that you're here instead of with the rest of them." He pauses. "And hey, wait one second, before you said  _I_  shouldn't be indoors and now you're telling me that the pack is  _inside_  at your  _loft_?" He frowns. "Hypocrite much?"

Stiles must step over that invisible line, the one that says  _put one foot over that line and you'll regret it_. No sooner as he's finished accusing Derek of being a hypocrite, said hypocrite is dragging him by the arm—roughly, totally the ruffest of the ruffest (heh, dog joke)—toward the window.

"Hey, where we going? Oh, no, you're planning on killing me, aren't you? Look, I'm sorry I talk too much. It's a condition. I take Adderall for it… Wait. You know this. See? Incessant talking. Got to give me credit for that, right? I mean—"

Derek slaps a hand over his mouth, covering it. "Shh. Quiet time."

"I'll give you quiet time," he mumbles, voice muffled by Derek's hand which is—um, ew, as sweaty as Satan's asshole. "Please, kindly remove your paw off of my delicate face."

Derek's face does the 'complete shut-down' movement, and that is when Stiles remembers that  _call me a dog one more time, I dare you_ was so  _not_  a dare at all and he is going to die a slow, horrible and painful death.

Apparently 'a slow, horrible and painful death' means getting slammed into a wall  _again_  and kissed like the world is ending.

Huh.

"You are  _so_  insufferable," Derek moans against his mouth. Stiles isn't capable of replying since, uh, you get the picture. His hands are currently planted on the alpha's shoulders, fingernails digging into the soft material of the werewolf's maroon Henley.

By the time Stiles's brain catches up with what is happening, pretty much every piece of clothing that was on his body is now gone and Derek's standing in all of his half-naked glory  _in his bedroom_. The abs that are staring him in the face are like the ones you see movie superheroes flaunting at starry-eyed damsels and  _oh hell no_. He is not a damsel, nah-uh.

"I'm feeling a bit, uh, unworthy of your body," he manages to squeak, eyes ogling the more than nice view.

Derek rolls his eyes, stripping his—oh, God, his boxers. That's penis. Derek Hale's penis. He is going to die, after all.

"Shut up and get on the bed," Derek growls. Stiles doesn't need to be told twice, throwing himself onto the mattress and preparing himself for the death of a champion—cos, come on, having sex with Derek Hale is surely the feat of a champion. It doesn't stop him from running his mouth, though.

"Is this a heatstroke thing? Are you delirious, confused perhaps? Because, um, buddy, you're about to consensually put your cock up my—"

"I am fully aware of what I'm about to do, Stiles," Derek sighs, mattress dipping further as he kneels above Stiles, staring down at him. "Although, you'll find that I'm not one to…"

Stiles doesn't catch on to what Derek is getting at, until he notices the alpha's raised eyebrows and spread legs. "Oh. Oh,  _shit_."

"Flattering," Derek deadpans.

"So, you—you, uh… You bottom then?" he chokes. He's honestly freaking out now, because in what universe does muscly, big bad alpha Derek take it up the ass from  _him_  and  _enjoy it_? He'd expected the guy to top and to top like a  _pro_ , though the image of that gorgeous, tan ass sinking down on his cock  _is_  a very likeable one.

Derek sighs hopelessly. "Yes, Stiles,  _I take it up the ass_. Is that such a surprise?"

"Um, I don't know, is that a surprise—YES! Yes, it is! Derek, that is the most unexpected thing I've ever heard in my  _life_ , and I've had Scott tell me that he watched gay porn once," he babbles.

"Scott watched gay porn, like that's shocking," Derek remarks, shaking his head. "Ignoring the fact that he and Allison have been banging Isaac in my loft for the past few months now."

Stiles's mouth drops. "Are you  _kidding me_!?"

"No. I'm not. I'm also not kidding when I saw that I want you to  _fuck me_ ," he mentions. Stiles's eyes bulge. "Getting it now?"

Stiles nods his head frantically, almost like a bobble-head. "Yes, yes. Yep. Getting it. So,  _so_  getting it."

"Good." And then Derek's lifting himself up effortlessly and lowering himself on Stiles's dick, squeezing his eyes shut as he lets out a soft noise of pleasure.

"Oh my fuck," Stiles curses, whining as his cock is clasped tight by quivering, wet muscle. "Your ass is everything I knew I wanted."

Derek barks out a loud, startled laugh, hazel eyes opening to reveal their amused shine. "You're unbelievable."

"Don't tell me you're just getting that now," Stiles jokes. He whimpers, though, when Derek rises and lowers, clenching on the slow way down. "Fuck, please don't stop with that thing you're doing with that glorious butt of yours."

"Not my intention." Derek smirks, twisting his hips and grinding them back and forth, rubbing Stiles's cock into the deepest, sensitive part of him. "As long…  _ah_ … as you don't stop doing that, I think we've got a deal," he groans, arching his neck skyward, gasping in hot little pants.

Stiles watches Derek fall apart—observes every tic of his facial expression, every coil of his abdomen, every shudder of his thick, bobbing cock. The alpha's ass is well past sloppy, the sounds of his pre-come making very lewd, wet noises as he pistons in and out of the werewolf's hole.

"Come on, come on," he mutters, breathing heavily, almost winded as Derek rocks into his every thrust, hair mussed and damp, eyes clenched shut and lips parted on high-pitched sighs. He can feel the alpha's inner muscles beginning to gently start twitching, the usual sign of an approaching orgasm. "I know you're close. I can feel it."

Derek doesn't respond, instead rolling his ass down onto Stiles's cock in fast, jolting movements. His breaths pick up, high-pitched sighs turning almost feminine and oh wow, Derek Hale is an embarrassingly _hot mess_. Stiles hasn't got the time to think about how pretty the alpha is before said werewolf stops, trembles in shaking tremors, and lets out a noise somewhere between a squeak and a whimper, painting his and Stiles's chest in white, milky ropes of come, cock jumping against his belly as it spurts.

"Oh,  _fuck_ ," he whines, the alpha's inner muscles milking him for everything he has. He has to gather himself afterward, aftershocks running through him as his cock continues to squirt, the action causing him to sob a little bit.

They both lie there for a few minutes as Derek has slumped forward and hasn't moved since, his breathing still quick and erratic. Stiles rests a hand on the werewolf's back, fingers tracing the swirls of Derek's tattoo. He feels as well as hears when the man falls asleep, his breaths reducing to tiny inhales and exhales.

"G'night, Derek," he murmurs, smiling despite the small traces of heat that are beginning to seep between their sweaty bodies. He closes his eyes and lets himself rest, the warm ghost of Derek's breath against his neck.

Maybe this summer break won't be so bad, after all.


End file.
